Worldless
dented, long since crushed,
pretending to be a vertebra,
admiring those who have spines.
kids want to kick it.
maybe it would be thankful,
having waited forever--
unable to release, and yet craving rest,
having watched the same thing,
as if stuck in a circus too long.
ice and petals frolic the calendar,
but none budge the false stare
of something that seems more:
helpless yet alert,
beaten and sensitive--
some million-year-old man,
just an abused kid, just a rock,
who wants moss to hug it,
warm as a shawl.
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8/14/22 significantly condensed
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